


Home for Christmas

by psychobetts



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Home for Christmas, Inspired by Music, Long-Distance Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobetts/pseuds/psychobetts
Summary: It is years later, and it is the dead of winter. The trailer’s greenery is dead, the paint a little more worn. Everything is dusted in a thick layer of snow. Your wish is fulfilled. They do love you.





	Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shrugheadjonesthethird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrugheadjonesthethird/gifts).



> Hi! I had been sitting on this fluff-fest for quite some time before I finally realized how to finish it. And what to do with it. 
> 
> So, this one is for you, Cyd. 
> 
> Thank you for being my first friend in this fandom. I am so glad we crossed each other's virtual paths! You've been so kind to me, so supportive of me, and you've been an amazing collab partner. I honestly cannot express how grateful I am. Love you lots, and I hope you enjoy. xx

* * *

* * *

 

 

Five years earlier was when you first set eyes on the trailer you now consider a second home. It was summer the first time you saw it in its green glory. The small trailer had been almost entirely covered in living, breathing vinery. The wood of the small porch was distressed, a chipped off-white paint job. Back then, it was new to you and much different than your own family’s home, but it was still strangely comfortable. It was like you had been meant to cross its threshold.

 

You liked the trailer, but if you were really going to be honest, it was more about the people who lived inside. You had longed to be a member within its walls. An honorary member, someone who came to visit with the people who lived there so they’d love you. After all, you already loved them.

 

Now, it is years later, and it is the dead of winter. The trailer’s greenery is dead, the paint a little more worn. Everything is dusted in a thick layer of snow. Your wish is fulfilled. They do love you. Well, he does. The rest adore you. They tell you that you’re a sight for sore eyes when you knock and walk inside the door. They give you warm hugs and he kisses your forehead. You missed his tenderness.

 

His gunmetal blue eyes are happy and gentle, and they look relieved to see you. You never once imagined your life would be so closely intertwined with his. You want to grab his face and bring it closer to yours, but his family is watching, and you don’t like being so public. However, a palm to his cheek is good enough. It tells him of everything you want to say, everything you want to do.

 

You were both five-years-old the first time you saw him. It was at a town picnic at Pickens Park, held in the middle of July, the heat of summer. Years later, five-year-old memories are a blur. However, you do have some vivid pictures in your mind that you could not have conjured up on your own. This picnic was one of them.

 

The specific picture you still could pull up in your mind’s eye was him, walking behind his dad, holding onto a pant leg. His expression was one of shyness. He was wearing small denim pants with holes worn in the knees, sneakers, a black short sleeve t-shirt with a big ‘S’ painted on the front, and of course, a small knitted beanie on the crown of his head. For some reason, that stuck with you, even after all these years. When you think back to that picnic, all you really remember is that image, and that the picnic was his first of many.

 

He became a dear friend after that. He hung around with you and Archie, and the three of you tore through the town on your various adventures. Then, when you were entering your teenage years together, you both attended Riverdale High. You both wrote scathing pieces for the Blue and Gold.

 

Over the years you learned a few things about him. He didn’t talk much and in such a loud group, he almost got lost in the crowd. He was mature, soft-spoken, slightly cynical, but around you, always happy. Always kind.

 

He was also small. Not short, but the other guys dwarfed him in mass. With his long stick legs, wavy black hair, his typical worn knitted beanie always atop his head, he wasn’t conventionally attractive. A girl didn’t look at him and think: _I want to get my hands on that._ They thought: _He looks like my little brother._

 

You never thought anything, not when you were growing up together. His appearance didn’t mean anything to you. You only cared that he was nice, your friend, and that was enough.

 

You can’t remember when it is you loved him first. You looked upon him - his smooth, tanned complexion, his boyish clothes, his lean figure - for almost a whole childhood. Then one day you happened to take a longer glance, and it was like you really saw him. Could a soul be visible to the outside eye? Yes, you believed so. He was beautiful, in more ways than you could count.

 

It could have been the teasing look he got when he tugged on your ponytail, or maybe when you asked politely for him to help you clean up the office and he agreed without hesitation. It could have been when he asked you thoughtful questions that demanded thoughtful responses, which was often. Those could have been the instances in which you truly considered it. Were you more than friends? How did you feel?

 

Maybe it was when you took his hand at Cooper dinners to pray and he squeezed it so hard you had to try not to burst into laughter. It could’ve been that time when you swatted his hand away from a cooling plate of pancakes because you weren’t quite ready for breakfast. Possibly when he caught your eye across a flickering fire held on the banks of Sweetwater River, and gave you this secret grin no one else saw. Those could have been the instances in which you truly considered it. Did you love him?

 

Yes. Yes. Absolutely. _Yes._

 

Unlike other hazy memories of the past, it’s easy to recall that evening in the library. It was as if it occurred yesterday instead of years ago. It was drafty in that old room where you stayed to help after school. That time you were alone, shelving books. But as soon as he walked in, his presence was an intense, burning heat.

 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” His blue eyes were shy like they usually were, but filled with something else you hadn’t seen since he was young.

 

“Of course.”

 

Your response drew him closer to you until he stood mere feet away.

 

“Uh...where can I put these?” He hesitantly held out a stack of non-fiction magazines.

 

“I’ll take them,” you replied, quietly, and reached out your hand to take the magazines.

 

But he didn’t offer them to you. Instead, he laid them on the shelf, slid them where they didn’t go. He stepped closer to you still.

 

“Can I ask you something else?” This time his eyes were determined, so fierce.

 

You had never seen that look. “Of course.”

 

He closed the last of the space between you quickly and grabbed your face between two of his very warm hands. You sighed. It felt so good to finally be close to him.

 

“Do you like me?”

 

You nodded, vehemently.

 

“Like, _really_ like me? Like that?”

 

Another forceful nod and you saw the determination disappear and be swiftly replaced with joyful relief.

 

“Good. Me too,” were his words before he pressed his lips to yours.

 

How long had you both been waiting for a green light?

 

Yes, you loved him, and it didn’t matter when it started because that time was past and you loved him in that library, loved him at Pop’s, loved him at the river, loved him in a dusty film booth, loved him everywhere you went together. Even if you weren’t talking because you were supposed to be mad at each other, you still held his hand tightly because you couldn’t bear to let it go. You loved him in the midst of grief, during the deepest of turmoils, and loved him among the happiest days. You loved him despite your differences. You still loved him when you made your decision to leave, even when he couldn’t. It was because you had to go, if only to fulfill a dream. But it was not because he wasn’t sufficient. You made sure he knew that.

 

You can still remember that sinking feeling you had in your stomach as you opened your Columbia acceptance letter. If it had been months before, the letter surely would have been met with excitement, joy, and pure relief. But a lot had changed in a few months. You had realized a new dream with him.

 

“I don’t want you to stay in Riverdale just for me,” he told you, with unbridled pain in his voice. You could tell he was trying to mask it for your sake but it was a wasted effort.

 

“I’ll just be miserable without you, Juggie.”

 

“Maybe a bit. But not too miserable, baby,” he said, smiling at you, though his voice was strained, “You’re going to get all your work done, get straight A’s, make tons of friends that are _not_ boys-” You cracked a smile at that, despite yourself “-and then you’re going to come straight home, back to me.”

 

He’d always be enough for you, your childhood love.

 

You loved him when you were far apart. It was easy not to lose touch when you talked every single day. It was almost like you’d never been separated except for the fact you couldn’t touch him, smell him, feel him. After a few months, the loneliness faded, and you were able to put yourself out there more. You met some people and you had fun. You were beginning to experience things you never had before. But by the time you were coming home for Christmas, you had already realized that you never had to leave to find yourself. You’d been here all along.

 

Despite that, the first year was hard, really hard. You learned loneliness was a person, an actual entity. The second year was a little more bearable. You would never be happy with a long distance relationship, but you were used to it. This time, you’ve never been so relieved to come back to the town with pep, and now, time was quickly running out. And when it did, you’d have to leave him again.

 

He has a woods behind his trailer. You try not to think of your dwindling time as you walk beside him, mitted hand in mitted hand. He is silent too, maybe also pushing back the same thoughts. But then he speaks and you forget your too early departure back to the place where you made your commitments with cheques and signatures, and you focus only on his smooth, deep voice.

 

“I missed you _so much,_ ” is what he says, the last two words nothing but a breath.

 

“You make the guys at school look like children,” you tell him because it’s true and he deserves to know it. He is incomparable.

 

“Is that so?” he asks, with a grin. You love his crooked smile, all white teeth contrasted against his slightly darker skin.

 

“Yes, it is,” you easily admit.

 

“Then what if...” he hesitates, and looks down at you with excitement in his face, “...I come with you?”

 

“I’d love for you to visit, you know that,” you tell him.

 

“No, not visit. I don’t want to visit. I want to stay.”

 

You consider it briefly. You shouldn’t let him do that just for you. He knows you’re lonely, but for you to ask him to come would be selfish. He’s never been ready to leave Riverdale, his family. He’s always been too indecisive or without the necessary means. He shouldn’t have to stretch himself or leave all he knows for you.

 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you finally say.

 

He blinks a few times, and then his lips stretch into a small smile. Wordlessly, he leans down and presses his lips to yours so firmly you can feel everything leaking through - emotions and thoughts and intentions. When he pulls back, he has this look on his face like he knows something you don’t.

 

“That’s very considerate of you, but I’ve already enrolled, so you don’t have to ask me anything.”

 

You fling your arms around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes. He wraps his arms around your waist as tight as he can manage, and tucks his head into your neck. You feel that warmth you’ve always felt with him. It radiates.

 

“Seriously?” You ask because you’ve waited for this moment and now that it’s come, it’s hard to believe.

 

“I’m ready to move on. I thought I needed to stay here, but now I know that all I need is to keep you,” he admits to your neck.

 

You pull back and grab his red-tinged face between your mittens, peppering it with kisses as he laughs.

 

“I don’t think I could love you more, Jughead Jones.”

 

His lips twitch. “Let’s see. Can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.”

 

He doesn't hesitate at all before he speaks. He seems to have found the exact words, the perfect words for this moment.

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

He unwraps his arms from you to remove his mittens and procure a red velvet box from his pocket. He opens it to reveal a simple glittering stone.

 

Are you more than just a pair of distanced lovers? Are you more than childhood friends, each other's first loves?

 

_Yes._

 

All those years ago you’d never thought it would come to this, actually work out. There are so many things that can keep people apart from each other - surmountable and not so much - but they all lost to you. Nothing would get in your way.

 

“Absolutely,” you whisper, and you swear his smile in response is brighter than the stone he slips on your finger.

 

But not quite as bright as your future together. No, that was blinding. Warm. Like the sun.

 

Like him.

 

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Extra special thank you to Emily (theonlyemmaleigh) and Jess (jandjsalmon) for beta reading. Love you both. xx


End file.
